Sealed With Fire
by Palatyne
Summary: "How are you to pay for this, kunoichi?" He had asked her, his voice warning her that he would exact payment from her one way or another.  AU, SasuSaku and glimpses of a few other pairings.  Updated, Chapter 3!
1. Chapter 1

**Sealed With Fire**

by Palatyne

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Naruto. The original characters, story and plot belong to Masashi Kishimoto, Shounen Jump, Shueisha, English editions to Viz Media, the anime to Studio Pierrot et. al.

**Summary: ** She remembered his words clearly, more like a dream now than a memory. "How are you to pay for this, kunoichi?" He had asked her, his voice warning her that he would exact payment from her one way or another. [AU, SasuSaku and glimpses of a few other pairings]

**Author's Note**: Written for SasuSaku Month (Week 1 – Day 4 Prompt: Alternate Universe – Burning/Ignite).

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><p><strong>Chapter One<strong>

**Treaty**

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><p>It was a stranger staring back at her in the mirror, a reflection that held much of the same features but made up so differently that she doubted anyone else would recognize.<p>

Her long, pink hair was expertly done in an elaborate hairstyle. The front was cut into a stylish fringe, parted to the side. The rest was then swept up into in a small bun tilted almost precariously sideways, secured by a single ornament – a barrette of silver and crystal cherry blossoms that reflected the hue of her hair and glinted in the light. From there the length of her hair cascaded in soft waves down the side her head.

As she stared at her reflection she marveled at the strange color her eyes had taken. Her face was expertly painted in subtle shades that brought out the natural glow of her skin, with only the faintest pink on her cheeks and lips. But the artist made an exception with her eyes, where various bold hues of copper and gold dusted her eyelids like a natural sheen – turning the plain green of her eyes into stunning emerald orbs.

It was a beautiful reflection, she could admit that, but it was unfamiliar and not a little disconcerting.

She was waiting now for the kimono-dresser. The last person who would see her before she headed out, just one in the long list of professionals hired from across the Land of Fire to somehow transform the kunoichi of the Leaf into the ladies they were supposed to be, instead of the battle-hardened warriors that they were – to prepare them for the whirlwind of social events that now swept their village.

Everywhere in the village there was hushed kind of excitement in the air. The leaders of the village wanted to perpetuate a festive mood, a reminder to the people that this was to be a joyous occasion.

What the rest of the villagers were not made to witness, what the rest of the shinobi world didn't know was the long, arduous, often contentious and decades-long negotiation that preceded the announcement of the treaty.

In the end, it was decided that for the Hidden Leaf and its one wayward clan to be united once more, they must be bound to each other by stronger ties, by bonds that could only be induced by more intimate alliances among their shinobi.

Sacrifices had to be made.

She wondered what her parents would think about her situation, had they survived the border war that took their lives when she was a mere child. She wondered if they would have opposed it, not being as bound to strictures of their profession, not by bound by an unyielding sense of duty that bent the parents of the other kunoichi to the will of their leaders.

But in place of her parents now would be the Hokage, who will represent her not as a parent or her master but as the leader of their village.

They were told they had a choice, that they could refuse – but in the same breath the Hokage impressed upon them the importance of the treaty, what it meant to the lives of so many. That it will be their children and their grandchildren who will reap the fruits of their sacrifice.

_Peace._

It was not the kind of speech that would fall on deaf ears, not when spoken to those who have been trained to devote their lives to their village, to perform their duty until death.

And this was part of their duty. Not only because the Daimyo, the council and their Hokage asked it of them, but because they themselves owed it to the rest of the village, to the rest of the land.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a soft knock on the door, followed by the hurried entrance of a middle-aged woman dressed in a beautiful dark blue kimono, carrying a large, seemingly airtight storage box lined with white cloth.

They exchanged pleasantries for a few moments as the woman expertly opened the box, removing the layers of cloth protecting its contents and for a brief instant she caught a glimpse of shimmering silk.

She was instructed to undress, as the woman held out a robe made of light fabric which she guessed was the under robe. She turned around to face the mirror, loosening the ties of the dressing robe, shrugging it off of her shoulders.

"Oh my!" She heard the woman gasp

"Eh?"

She turned her head slightly only to see the look of surprise on the older woman's face.

The dressing robe had now fallen past her shoulders and down her waist, exposing the whole of her back.

She knew then what the woman saw, the sight that made her gasp so loudly.

She had forgotten about it in the blur of activities of the day, she forgot that today there would be one other person who would see it.

The three parallel scars on the right side of her back, just below her shoulder.

Yet even an expert would be hard-pressed to tell what inflicted the scars – for apart from the slight bunching of skin around the welt of each scar, they were mostly smooth and even, distinctive only because they were a shade or two darker than the rest of her skin.

But they were not the scars of a wound skillfully treated by sutures. Nor were they so grotesque that one could infer them to have been wounds improperly treated and left to heal so haphazardly.

They were made by an expert hand, though sealed not by needle and thread but of something else, something infinitely more painful.

It was rare now for shinobi to have such severe scars, what with the Iryo-nin now at their most advanced in decades. There were salves and creams now for every blemish of the skin and with the right use of healing chakra even the worst of scars could fade significantly if not erased completely.

But there were those who chose to keep their scars, older shinobi who saw them not as imperfections in their appearance but as a mark of their experience, a reminder to all that they had survived and lived through whatever it was that scarred them

The scars on her back were a mark of a different kind. Most days it felt to her like a brand singed upon her skin, a constant reminder of the night it was made – a memento of a chance encounter in a strange forest.

Today was not a day she wanted the memory to surface. But her dreams the past nights had been of nothing else. She had wondered why this was so, why her mind would let her relive the memory over and over again.

She willed her mind to stay away from the memory, let it haunt her dreams instead of her waking hours.

She muttered something vague at the older woman, assuring her that the scars had been nothing serious. She was not keen on sharing the real story and the woman took the hint and proceeded to do what she was hired to do.

As she stood in nothing but her underwear over which a thin under robe had been draped, she watched from the mirror as the woman took out the length of the kimono and liquid splendor cascaded from her hands.

She could only watch as the dresser's expert hands folded, draped and secured each stretch and corner of fabric in a precise, methodical way.

As the silk came alive on her body, she marveled at the sight of it. She had never seen anything so beautiful in her life. She had worn a few simple kimonos herself and had seen the more exquisite creations worn by some of the more affluent ladies who had been their clients – mostly noble-born women of the Daimyo's circle.

But what the woman held in her hands was absolutely stunning.

"It is a garden of spring flowers." The woman intoned proudly and she finished her task and stood a step back from her handiwork.

Indeed it was.

The base color of the kimono was white, but splashed artfully across the length of it were several hues of light green that reminded her of meadows. Along the hem, then rising upwards towards the front of the kimono and across each sleeve was an elaborate and detailed pattern of spring flowers – plum, peach, peony, iris – lined in silver and reflecting the faintest shades of their natural colors.

Yet she knew enough of flowers to know that one spring blossom was missing from this decadent bouquet.

As if reading her thoughts, the older woman explained.

"_You_ will be the main blossom."

The play on her name was not lost on her as she gaped at her reflection on the mirror. She looked like a character from one of their legends, as if she had stepped out of a decorative scroll or a wood-cut picture.

She smiled then, half in amusement at her incredulous transformation and half in sheer pleasure at the sight of her.

"Perfect for a future bride." The woman gushed.

She knew the woman meant well.

She knew the words were a meaningless comment.

But as she heard them it was as if her one moment of delight had been smothered. The awed smile on her face faded, swiftly replaced by the look of calm dispassion she had learned to wear to hide her true feelings from the world.

Sensing the drastic change in her demeanor, the kimono-dresser promptly proceeded with a few more tugs and pulls of the fabric, the finishing touches of the ensemble before excusing herself politely, bustling out of the dressing room as swiftly as she had come in.

As soon as the door closed, she carefully gathered the folds of the kimono as gently as she could and sat back on the chair, facing the mirror and once more staring at her strange, unsmiling reflection.

They were told they had a choice.

But she realized now, that like the beautiful woman staring back at her, it was all an illusion.

For there was no way she would refuse.

What the treaty would bring to their village was an end to the decades of bloodshed, an end to the hatred that had festered for nearly a century between the two factions. It was something that their ancestors could only dream about but which they had the chance to make real.

Her own sacrifice seemed insignificant.

She knew from the moment the words left the Hokage's lips that the she would obey.

Yet there was a part of her that felt the stirrings of despair, a part of her that came alive at night when she was most alone – her dreams invaded by the one memory that haunted her.

She realized now that whenever she thought of her future, each time she thought of how her fate would be sealed, her thoughts would inadvertently turn to that one memory.

The memory of the man in the forest, the man who had branded her with fire.

She would see him as if he were standing right in front of her, staring at her with his crimson eyes.

She realized then that her despair had sprung from hope. A hope that it would be his face that she would see when she entered the room where she would meet her intended, that it was to him that she would be bound – that the scars he placed on her skin were indeed his brand.

After all it was his clan that the village now wished to be joined with, that it was to the men of his clan that select kunoichi of the Leaf were to be given in marriage to seal their alliance.

But she despair now clutched at her heart because the hope she carried since the treaty's announcement, since she had acquiesced obediently to the Hokage's plea, had now been quashed so cruelly – just the night before, when the Hokage had given her the name and portrait of the man she was too meet today.

The man whose duty it was to ask for her hand, as it was her duty to accept.

As she took a glance at the portrait and saw the face of a man she had never seen before, she realized how foolish she had been.

How foolish it was to hope.

She closed her eyes and took a deep sigh, trying to fight off the desolation that was slowly taking root in her heart.

But as she did so her mind betrayed her, instantly taking her to the one memory she knew she must never indulge in again.

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><p><em>To be continued…<em>


	2. Chapter 2

**Sealed With Fire**

by Palatyne

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Naruto. The original characters, story and plot belong to Masashi Kishimoto, Shounen Jump, Shueisha, English editions to Viz Media, the anime to Studio Pierrot et. al.

**Author's Note:** I would very much appreciate your feedback on this story. There will be a few more chapters after this, but it will not be too long a story. :)

**Chapter Two**

**Border**

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><p><em>A year ago...<em>

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><p>She had been warned that the forests of the border were going to be different from what they were used to. It was her first mission in the area and despite learning all she could about the terrain, she had found herself struggling, taking twice as much effort to land on the moss-covered branches of the unusual trees.<p>

There were none of the gigantic, myriad-branched trees of the Land of Fire. Here the trees looked nothing more than overgrown shrubs where gigantic fungi perched at various angles, some hanging overhead like upturned parasols. The forest hummed with the sounds of strange creatures and strange scents wafted all around her – it was a strange forest, and she was a stranger in it.

It was to be a routine mission, something that once even unseasoned genin could do. The area was technically open territory. Its resources, particularly several species of rare plants that thrived nowhere else was free for all to take. But relations between Kusa and Konoha had been deteriorating in recent months, the fragile peace forged at the end of the last war now close to breaking. There had been reports of increased patrols, of atrocities committed by Kusagakure shinobi on civilian settlements at the edge of the Land of Fire.

She was not sent there, a seasoned chuunin, to simply forage. She was sent to scout the border, to check if the rumors were to be believed – to check if Kusagakure, by militarizing the area, was breaking its treaty with Konoha. Gathering the rare plants was to be her official mission, her cover in case she encountered patrols, in case they questioned her.

She had not been half a day in the border forest when she crossed paths with a patrol and to her surprise, it was a full three-man team of jounin. Not even Konoha could spare such a team for a mere patrol.

They did not question her presence in the forest at all.

They simply drew their weapons and attacked.

She was barely a match for them, not with three of them attacking her at all at once. If she had not been trained by some of the best shinobi that ever lived, lending a shadow of their greatness in her own skills, she would not have survived.

She was outmatched and expending more and more chakra as the fight went on. Heavily injured, she knew she needed to fall back. With one last surge of chakra she slammed fist to the ground causing a wide fissure, and piles of upturned earth were flung in all directions, disorienting the Grass-nin and giving her a head start in the chase.

She took flight through the forest toward the direction of the Land of Fire, healing the worst of her injuries along the way. It was not until much later that she realized that the Grass-nins' weapons were far more sophisticated than she gave them credit for. The barbed spike that grazed her back was not meant to inflict a grave injury instantly. It was a deceptive weapon, made not of steel but of sun-dried, hardened, razor-sharp blades of grass. The spikes held a deadly secret: they were detachable and were meant to lodge into the cuts on the skin created upon impact. They clung so well onto skin because their edges were minutely serrated, the jagged peaks sharper than any metal blade. They were designed specifically to sink in further with every movement of the flesh around it. Each flex of muscle, each hard thud as she landed on the slippery branches had sent the barb deeper and taking them out had caused even more damage.

It was a crude but very effective weapon that left her with open wounds on her back that were bleeding profusely from the many blood vessels that had been torn. The wounds were far too complex for just a simple sealing of the skin and tissue. She knew from experience that it would require precise and prolonged exposure to healing chakra to weave the blood vessels back together. She had used what was left of her chakra from the skirmish with the Grass-nin to heal what she had thought were her more pressing injuries – the broken ribs, her fractured leg and bruised organs on her left side where a kick landed squarely. She had ignored the wounds on her back. As she realized the complexity the wounds, so too did she realize she did not have enough chakra to heal them. She did her best to bandage the wounds to help staunch the bleeding, but she knew it would do very little.

She knew her only hope lay in reaching the Land of Fire before she lost too much blood. Even at the edge of the border she would have hope of somehow sending word to Konoha, of somehow calling for help.

But as she flew at full speed across the border, the blood loss began to take its toll on her body, slowing her down, draining her strength. With several miles more miles, she knew she could go no further, not with her wounds, not with the day already fading to dusk.

Night had fallen when she managed to find a deep hollow in one of the taller trees. It offered some concealment and comfort from the chill – grimly she had thought it to be a fitting tomb.

That was where he found her.

She had sensed the surge in chakra as she sat inside the hollow, trying to rest, weighing her options to survive. For a panicked instant she thought the Grass-nin had found finally found her – but even from a distance she realized the chakra was different. She knew at once that it was not one of her pursuers, that it was another stranger in this strange forest.

But there was no way to know if it was friend or foe. She had hoped that it was simply another shinobi passing through. She had hoped that her depleted chakra would not alert the stranger to her presence. She hoped the hollow was enough to conceal her.

But as the strange chakra neared her hiding place, she knew something else would lead to her trail.

The blood.

She stood up then, sensing for certain that the stranger was heading towards her. Using the last of her strength, she braced herself against the moss-covered bark, feet apart and kunai at the ready on her good hand.

But he was at the hollow's entrance before she could even ready her strike.

As the moonlight bathed his form and she saw him clearly, she almost laughed at the irony of her situation – that she should survive the Grass-nin and escape the border forest only to die so close to Konoha, at the hands of a more familiar enemy.

The stranger was no Grass-nin, but another shinobi from the Land of Fire.

But he was not an ally. He was not of her village. Anyone from Konoha would tell her they would sooner face foreign shinobi than tempt fate by battling a member of his clan.

She saw it clearly as he walked menacingly towards her, clear as day on his hitai-ate, the crest of his clan.

The fan.

He stood before her calmly, not a trace of wariness in his stance, telling her without words that she was not worth putting his guard up.

When he spoke, his voice was cold and mocking.

"If you have strength enough to attack me, heal your wounds first."

She gripped her kunai even harder, angered by his words. She wondered if this was how they dealt with their enemies, to ridicule them before killing them. Only they would have such pride, such confidence in their power and skill.

Sensing the change in her stance his eyes to meet hers.

She saw him clearly then, even without the crest on his cloak only a fool would mistake him for being of another clan.

His dark hair framed a face set in sharp angles, proud features that made her think of old paintings of ancient warriors.

But it was his eyes that caught her.

She bit back a gasp as she saw them, glowing red in the darkness – the infamous _kekkei genkai_ of his clan.

Stories about their feared clan were rife with tales of their unique eyes, the powers it lent them, the jutsu they could both perform and undo, the illusions they can weave into the minds of those who dare look into their eyes.

The myriad ways they could dispose of their enemies with the feared Sharingan.

Yet he made no move to attack her and she sensed nothing strange in her surroundings to suggest an illusion.

He simply stood there, his crimson eyes staring at her intently.

Why wasn't he attacking? Why was he letting her live? Did he want torture her before killing her? Did he want information from her? The thoughts raced through her mind, causing her heart to beat more rapidly – causing more blood to seep out of her wounds.

"You are bleeding heavily." He spoke again, his brows furrowed as if in annoyance.

She was sorely tempted to roll her eyes at his words. One didn't need a doujutsu to sense her predicament, anyone with a decent sense of smell would be able to tell. The smell of blood was overpowering now, permeating the confines of the hollow.

How pathetic she must look to him, a shinobi of the Leaf bleeding and hidden inside a tree like a wounded animal.

Yet she knew if she was to die in his hands, she would not do so without a fight.

She pushed her left foot forward to ready herself for a lunge, but as she did so she felt herself losing balance, her mind suddenly reeling from the sudden movement. It took all her strength to keep herself from swaying, to keep her eyes trained on her enemy lest he take the opportunity to strike.

But he remained unmoving, eyes merely looking at her with the same seemingly irritated expression.

"You are at your limit, kunoichi."

As if his words were its cue, her knees buckled before finally failing, sending the rest of her body crashing in a loud thud onto the ground – only her kunai, stabbed in time onto the bark, saved her from the indignity of collapsing face down.

So much for keeping her dignity as shinobi, she thought to herself as she struggled to rise, as her breathing turned into pants.

Her body was slowly surrendering to the loss of so much blood.

She was way beyond her limit.

Vaguely she sensed his almost soundless footfalls coming closer. She tried even harder to pull herself upright, gripping the kunai so hard she felt the metal dig dangerously into her skin.

Suddenly she felt strong hands take hold of her shoulders from behind her, pulling her upright – she resisting as much as she could, trying to pull herself from his grasp but to no avail.

She had no strength left to fight him.

"At least kill me swiftly." She whispered, as she felt her hands fall away.

"You will die anyway, with your wounds."

Then she felt something tugging at her jacket, pulling it away from her.

"What are you doing?" She cried out as the jacket was expertly divested from her body. Too weak to fight again and bewildered by what was happening, she could only cry out in protest as his hands moved next to her tunic, pulling the zipper down swiftly, then slipping it from her.

She felt the cold night air lash into her skin. She was now naked save the bandages that she had wound around her upper body, across one shoulder and around her chest. She had removed her brassiere when she bandaged the wound as it was already soaked in blood from the wounds on her back.

She felt her blood run cold as she thought of what he was about to do, why he was stripping her of her clothing.

"No!" She cried out weakly. She felt tears sting her eyes.

She didn't know what was worse, that she was about to cry or that she was actually pleading for her enemy to spare her a fate she deemed worse than death.

It was the fate that awaited many a kunoichi who fell to their enemies – and it seemed now that she was to be one of them.

She felt a surge of chakra and in the next instant heard the sound of something ripping. She felt the bandages come loose, falling away from her body.

She steeled herself for what was to come.

But there was only silence, nothing touched her but the cold air that swept into the hollow.

"There is a way to seal these without using healing chakra." He spoke slowly, almost uncertainly, as if he was weighing his own words.

She thought at first she misheard him, for there was no way he could be talking about sealing her wounds – when moments ago she was certain he would rape her before killing her.

"What do you mean?" She whispered weakly, confused and no longer certain of what exactly this stranger was trying to do.

"Take a deep breath." He replied after a long silence.

Her only warning were a series of words spoken with such speed it could only be the words to perform a jutsu.

Then it came, so swiftly that she felt her breath catch in her throat in shock.

Pain.

A pain so intense that she thought it was the end of her – that certainly the end of such a thing could only be death.

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><p><em>To be continued…<em>


	3. Chapter 3

**Sealed With Fire**

by Palatyne

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Naruto. The original characters, story and plot belong to Masashi Kishimoto, Shounen Jump, Shueisha, English editions to Viz Media, the anime to Studio Pierrot et. al.

**Author****'****s****Note:** I apologize for the very long gap between this chapter and the previous. I'm still not sure if people actually enjoy this story, though I very much enjoy writing it. I hope to hear your thoughts so please read and review.

And many, many thanks to those who already gave reviews, they inspire to keep on writing. I hope you enjoy this chapter as well.

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><p><strong>Chapter Three<strong>

**Encounter**

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><p>She was being burned.<p>

She could feel the flames licking her skin, sending waves of pain coursing through her.

It was unlike anything she had ever felt before. She could smell it, the scent of her own flesh turning into a blackened, charred mass. It took all of her self-control not to throw up, willing her mind to ignore the acrid stench that made her eyes water and her nose burn.

She wanted to cry out, scream and trash around – but all she could muster were silent tears, her hands digging into the rough bark, desperately trying to hold on to anything to help her bear the pain.

"Keep still." Came the command.

She didn't know why she heeded it, why she heard his voice amidst the haze of pain when all her other senses had all but shut down. Yet she obeyed and kept as still as she could.

She knew what it was he was doing, what the burning pain on her skin meant. It was a technique first developed during the early days of the shinobi world by the battle-hungry fire-wielders that swept through the lands armed with their fans and the power of their crimson eyes.

It was from a time before there were organized villages, a time when medical-ninjutsu was no more than a dream. Each clan had to rely on their own skills and techniques to treat wounds in battle. The Senju had their salves and potions reaped from their forests and their unparalleled skill at controlling chakra – the precursor to the medical ninjutsu of today.

The Uchiha had their own way – a brutal, excruciating but effective way to seal wounds.

To seal them with fire.

All her life she was taught to hate and fear his kind. What's left of her reason screamed at her to resist, to fight, to flee – her inner voice cursing at her, calling her a fool, telling her she may as well have surrendered to the Grass-nin. Perhaps death at their hands would have come more swiftly.

Yet she kept still as she could, defenseless, exhausted of chakra and writhing in pain – her life at the hands of an even deadlier enemy.

She gasped and slumped even lower as another wave of pain hit her. There was no way her body could take it, not in so weakened a state that she could barely cry out.

Then she felt his arm snake around her waist, wrapping around her like a steel band, seemingly to lend his own strength to her. He was anchoring her, refusing to let her surrender to the pain.

"The last one." His voice came again, breaking into her thoughts. She was starting to become disoriented, but heard enough warning in his voice to take heed and brace herself once more.

It was no better than the first. She felt her hold on the bark slipping and she would have crumpled to the ground again if not for his arm around her waist, steadying her. She was shaking, the tremors spreading throughout her body as the pain washed through her. She felt her lungs expanding to their limit, her breathing turn into deep pants. She wanted to escape, to take herself away from the pain. Her vision was blurring, darkness at the corners of her eyes, the threat of unconsciousness a swirling mass gathering inside her.

"Endure it." The command came again, the arm around her waist tightening.

She wanted to scream but no sound would come out of her lips. Her entire body struggled against his hold, wanting to lash out, to tear at anything – she couldn't see, hear or feel anything else but the pain.

But he was there to keep her still, to keep her calm.

To share the pain.

Then slowly, it began to ease.

After a long while, she found herself again. It was as if she had woken from a very strange but very vivid dream. Her mind no longer burdened by the pain, she felt her senses working once more. The first sound to register was the sound of her breathing, rapid and heavy.

Then felt the sting of the scratches on her palms and fingers where she had held desperately to the tree bark. She could now feel the cool breeze blowing into the hollow, how it cooled her skin, offering some comfort.

Then she felt something cold spreading over the burns, an exquisite comfort.

"The salve will absorb the heat, prevent more damage." He explained curtly.

But it was not the cooling salve that awakened her senses, but the touch of his fingers on her skin.

As he finished applying the salve, she felt his fingers move to the unscathed but sensitive skin around the burns, moving his fingers gently, smoothly in a tight circle. She realized then that he was soothing her.

It was a strange contrast of sensations, the now dulling ache of the burns, the coolness of the salve and the slow and steady warmth of his fingers. Somehow she had become too sensitive, very much aware of every patch of skin he touched, each sweep feeling more and more like a caress. She realized too, that he had not removed his arm around her waist, still firm and unyielding, his warmth seeping into her and warding off the chill on her bare skin.

"Is the pain easing?" He asked.

She could only nod in reply, not trusting herself to speak. It was surreal, everything that happened in the past hour – that he should be speaking to her, that he should have treated her wounds.

That he did not kill her, that he let her live.

That he saved her.

"The burns will heal in time." He spoke as if he knew from experience, as if he had gone through the same.

Belatedly she remembered her earlier predicament, the threat of her pursuers was still very much a reality, an icy panic threatening to course through her.

"I'm being pursued. The Grass-nin –"

"They're dead." He spoke the words quietly, without bravado. But the edge of certainty in his voice left her with no doubt that they died by his hand.

Somehow she was not surprised. She wondered if she should thank him again, though it was unlikely that he had purposely killed them to save her. Perhaps it was simply the Grass-nins' luck that they crossed paths with a deadlier shinobi.

But intentional or not, he had saved her from them as well.

She kept silent, focusing her thoughts on her body, assessing its state. She was still feeling light-headed and weak from the loss of blood – but the pain had seemingly woken her mind from its stupor. And with the wounds now sealed she felt she could risk to use a little of her chakra to hasten her body to produce more blood. She held her hand to her center, willing the warmth to travel to her bones, urging them to replace what was lost. Sensing what she was doing, his hand on her back went still. For a few more seconds she kneaded chakra, until she knew she could expend no more.

Then his hand was moving again, slowly over the burns, touching them for the first time. She flinched slightly, expecting pain, but there was very little. His touch was gentle, his fingers only lightly tracing the lines of the wounds – as if marveling at his own handiwork. She felt herself wanting to shiver at the contact and she knew it had nothing to do with the pain.

"This has cost me my mission." He whispered. His voice held a strange edge to it, not mocking but not at all as grave as it should have been.

His words held an air of expectation, a reminder that she now owed him.

It was then that she became fully aware of her state of undress. She was virtually naked from the waist up, with nothing but a handful of the undone bandages covering her front.

She realized just how vulnerable she had been, how vulnerable still.

More than his words, more than the raw power that seemed to seethe beneath the warmth of his touch, more than the fact that he was the deadliest shinobi she had ever encountered – it was her own reaction to him that alarmed her the most. She was becoming more acutely aware of the closeness of his body, of the warmth radiating from him and seeping into her, she could feel her pulse starting to quicken, her breathing starting to hitch up.

It was like she was burning all over again.

"I owe you my life." She acknowledged, wondering if this was enough.

Yet somehow she knew this was not the answer he was seeking – not with the way his hands now felt on her skin, not with the way he held her so close to him.

"So a kunoichi of the Leaf owes me a debt." She could hear the amusement in his voice. She could almost feel his lips moving against her skin as he spoke to the words. He was far too close – the heat from his body seemingly unbearable.

She wondered now if he could sense how she was trembling slightly, how her heart was now racing. She knew she should move away, place some distance between them – but his hand on her waist held fast, keeping her in place.

"I will speak of this to the Hokage. She will know of your kindness." She was mortified at the weakness in her voice.

"Your Hokage owes me nothing." Came his voice, close to her ear and she held back a shiver as she felt the slightest brush of his lips as he spoke.

She wondered now if it was the loss of blood that was making her feel strange things, why wariness was tinged with an anticipation, why her body was suddenly feeling so on edge, why every place he touched felt like it had been seared.

"So how will you repay me?" He whispered, his hands reaching upwards, parting the curtain of her pink hair aside to reveal the arch of her neck. She felt his fingers trace the line of her neck down to the curve of her shoulder before moving back up again in a slow, lazy sweep.

A shiver escaped her then. She was instantly mortified, angry at her body for betraying her – and she knew it did not escape his notice.

"How are you to pay for this, kunoichi?" He asked her again.

She was not naïve. He was a stranger, an enemy, but he had saved her life not once but twice. She knew what his question implied. She knew of the many ways a shinobi could repay another, of the many things he could demand or coerce from her – but that the way he touched her now meant he wanted something that should have sparked fear, but instead sparked something far more worrying.

"What will you give me for saving your life?" He asked her once more, this time ending the question with a light press of lips on her neck. It was the gentlest of sensations, but she found herself gasping at such an intimate touch.

She could blame the loss of blood for the light-headedness, she could blame the pain she suffered for causing reason to desert her.

But she knew it was simply his touch, his insistent hands roaming across skin, touching and caressing her in places that should not have made her shiver so. Yet for the life of her, she could not find the strength to resist.

Instead she gave him the answer he sought.

"Whatever you wish."

He laughed then, a mirthless sort of laugh, a laugh of triumph. He moved his hand to gently turn her to face him.

"I will hold you to your word, kunoichi."

Then his lips were upon hers.

Nothing could have prepared for it. She shuddered, her entire body reacting to the sudden, intimate contact. Instinctively her hands moved to his shoulders to push him away, but he caught the movement and simply pressed her closer to him, curving her body to his own. The instinct to flee was coursing through her but he held fast, his lips gentle but insistent. He was coaxing her, her surrender an unspoken demand.

She knew then that she could no more wrench her body away from him, than she could tear her lips from the pleasure of his own.

And against every instinct of the kunoichi born and bred within her, she surrendered to the kiss.

She parted her lips ever so slightly. The instant she did, she felt the molten heat of his tongue against her own – claiming her, reveling in her surrender – the intimate touch sending spikes of pure pleasure racing through her.

She was past the point of conscious thought, acting on an instinct that was too deep, too primal, threatening to overwhelm her – a silent hunger that had been burning within her, a flame that was kindled the instant he touched her.

He drew her even closer to him, angling his mouth to deepen the kiss, leaving her breathless and clutching at him with her hands.

Then all too soon it ended. He let out a deep sigh. He brushed his lips gently against hers as if in a gesture of parting, tugging lightly at her bottom lip before finally pulling away.

She felt bereft then, as if she had been cheated out of something more

"Was that payment enough?" She asked him brazenly. A strange anger spurring her - anger at his nonchalance, anger at herself for the wave of disappointment that washed through her as he ended the kiss.

"For now. You are tired and injured. You need to recover your chakra and be properly healed." There was that same certainty in his voice, and also a hint of a promise.

She realized then that he was staring at her intently with a burning expression that had nothing to do with the crimson of his eyes. She sensed too, the rapid beating of his heart, a mirror of her own. She knew then that it had taken a lot for him to break the kiss – and even now it was clear that he wanted more. She felt the warmth of blush suffuse her face and instantly averted her eyes.

"Look at me."

Once more she heeded him, wondering why his words held so much power over her. And as she raised her eyes to meet his, it was as if she was caught by them, caught by their beauty and the fire that seemingly blazed within them.

Vaguely she felt something was not right.

Without warning everything went still. There was nothing else in her world then but his eyes – the red copy-wheel and the swirling dark shapes within them.

Then there was nothing but darkness and his voice echoing from somewhere far.

Somewhere she could no longer see.

_I__ will __hold __you __to __your __word._

* * *

><p>To be continued…<p> 


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